


Ten Years Late

by PuppetMaster55



Series: superphantom 'verse [2]
Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetMaster55/pseuds/PuppetMaster55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years later, FBI agent Tucker Foley found the supposedly dead Winchester Brothers while investigating the slaughter of Pontiac, Illinois. He calls it in, requests reinforcements, then takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years Late

****

Tucker was coming out of the local deli, meatball sub in hand, when he spotted the Impala. It was black, and a '67, but he couldn't be sure if it was the same one. He'd still been in college when the Winchester Brothers had been back on the FBI Most Wanted list. They'd been on the list before, back in 2008, but an Agent Henrikson had declared them dead just before his own death. Supposedly they were confirmed dead back in 2012, with another agent having seen their decapitated bodies. A footnote said that that same agent had been found dead in his home four months later, part of a string of decapitations of influential people across the nation.

Tucker kept a copy of their file close, the box growing larger every time local law enforcement called in their thanks for stopping a string of killings. Everyone else thought the false FBI agents all across the country were vigilantes, good people that wanted to stop bad people, but Tucker knew better. It was the Winchesters, with the sightings narrowing down to them more and more since 2005. Tucker had once traced the number they handed out, but it went out to a junkyard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The owner was listed as dead. Supposedly.

So he paid half a mind to the impala, ready to dismiss it just like the other times, when Tall and Taller stepped out of it. He almost didn't recognize Sam Winchester, but Dean looked like he'd barely aged.

The phone was in his hands, the other line already ringing. It picked up. “Chris. I just saw a pair of dead wanted men. What do you wanna bet these guys are the killer I'm looking for.”

~~* * *~~

Sam was scared. Scared ~~of~~ for Dean.

People were dead. Normal, human people were dead. All by Dean's hand.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They _cured_ Dean, for god's sake! He was supposed to be fine. This was supposed to be over. The Mark was supposed to be nothing more than a Mark, the corrupting influence was supposed to be gone.

But nothing was ever what it was supposed to be.

He helped Dean out of the car, helped his brother into the hotel room. They had to leave town, had to book it back to the bunker ASAP. The bunker had to have something, some reference to an old case or another location, something that could help.

Dean was going through the motions, stuffing clothes into their bags. He looked pale, like he was ill, but his hands were the steadiest Sam had ever seen them. He also looked less tense, his shoulders finally relaxed – which, how long had they been taut, Sam wondered.

The door was kicked open, and Dean had a gun out and pointed at the other guy – a little above average size, dark skin, short curly hair, thick-rimmed glasses – before Sam's own gun was drawn. The other guy fixed his gun on Dean. “FBI! Put the gun down!”

Shit. The FBI – the _real_ FBI – had found them. Sam set his own gun down on the bed, raising his hands in the air. He kept his eyes on Dean, standing between the beds, his own gun still trained on the FBI agent. “Okay. We don't want any trouble. Dean, put the gun down.”

Dean tensed his shoulders, moving so he was standing between the agent and Sam. Sam recognized that pose, realized that Dean was about to shoot, about to kill another human.

He leapt over the bed, crashing into Dean. The gun didn't go off, thank god, and went sliding toward the agent. Dean slammed into the other bed, rolled off of it and jerked his head back. Sam let it hit, feeling his nose break, his lip split, even as he was knocked onto his back. His arms were wrapped around Dean's, pinning them down just above the elbow, and he rolled, so Dean was on his stomach, the full weight of his brother pinning him to the floor.

The entire thing had taken ten seconds, if that.

The agent still had his gun trained on the two, even as he bent down to grab the fallen sidearm. “Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, you are under arrest.”

“For what?” Dean managed to wheeze, looking much more lucid.

“The massacre of six people in that house last week. Remember Randy?” In the distance, sirens rang. “And for the death of Danny Fenton in 2005. Multiple counts of impersonating federal officers–”

“Hold up.” Dean coughed, and Sam let up, just enough for his brother to breathe. “The hell is Danny Fenton?”

“My best friend.” The officer replied. “Who you burned to death ten years ago.”

The sirens were getting closer. Sam didn't have time for this. _Dean_ didn't have time for this. “Look, we're sorry your friend died, but whatever he did–”

“He didn't do anything!” The agent screamed. “You killed him and sabotaged his parents work. You want a reminder? Amity Park, 2005. You lured a fourteen-year-old boy into a house down the street from the high school and _set him on fire_.”

“The poltergeist.” Sam realized. “The one possessing his dead body. You're...”

“I was his best friend.” The agent nodded, anger on his face. “And you killed him.” 

“He was already dead.” God, this was just a year full of old ghosts. First Cole, now this...

“He was alive.” The agent countered. “He was alive and you killed him.”

“No, he wasn't.” Dean grunted from underneath Sam, but was still stuck tight. “The dead should stay dead.” 

“He was half-dead!” The agent shouted. “He was helping us. He was alive, with all the powers of a ghost–”

“That wasn't the stuff ghosts can do.” Dean rebuked, and Sam needed for this to be over,  _now_ . The sirens were almost on top of them. “Now, we've seen ghosts, and that thing? That wasn't a ghost.” 

“And there's a lot of realms out there, but none of them are to that... whatever it was.”

“The Ghost Zone.” The way the agent said it made it sound like a real place. “It existed, and now Amity Park doesn't.”

“What?” What was the agent talking about? What happened to the town?

“Back in 2010, that year all the religious broadcasts were calling the apocalypse? Amity Park got wiped off the map by the huge storm that was supposed to hit Chicago. It's funny, though,” The agent laughed, dry and caustic. “The town of ghosts became a ghost town.”

“Crap.” Dean groaned into the carpet. “That's on me.”

“Dean?” Wait. Chicago. Death. “Dean you didn't...”

“I convinced Death to save Chicago. Buncha people that were supposed to die didn't, so a buncha other people had to die.” Dean tried to laugh, but there was nothing. “Learned that when I spent a day as Death. Suppose that makes me the Horseman of Death, now.”

“I don't know what you two are on about, but it ends here.” The agent glanced out the door, and Sam took his chance. He rolled off of Dean, letting his older brother launch forward, taking the agent's legs out from under him. Sam grabbed his gun, putting it back into place as he grabbed his and Dean's bags. Dean had knocked the agent back, taken his gun, and was now opening the passenger door to the Impala. They had minutes, if that, before the police blocked them in. It was past time to leave. 

Dean backed up when gunshots rang out. The windshield cracked, then exploded as the agent staggered out of the hotel room. Sam felt pain in his shoulder, and Dean swerved, shooting back. The agent went down, and they were on the road in under a minute, rounding the corner as the police cars turned onto the street. They drove onto the highway, and Sam swiped glass off his lap, glancing out the back window. “Did you kill that guy?”

“He shot you, what was I supposed to do? Hug it out?” Dean glanced at Sam, sparing a sneer at the pieces of windshield. “Anyway, now I gotta dig a bullet outta you, and replace baby's windshield. Dude got what was coming to him.”

“No, he didn't.” Sam pressed a hand to his wound, stemming the bleeding. “You can't just kill people, Dean! We kill monsters. We can't do that if we kill the people we save.”

Dean shrugged, tried not to look like it hurt him as much as it was hurting Sam. The Mark needed to be removed, before Dean became the monster. 


End file.
